on why most poet’s brilliance isn’t discovered until after they die
September 26, 2008
our words as awesome as they may be
the pages we color with melody
nothing we do will ever hope to seem
as poetic as passing to death
most permanently
A Man for and With Others
September 5, 2008
I am no longer a student
But a scholar A follower
Of the teachings of Ignatius
My life is changing rapidly
To transform into a new
Being of competence
To show the world my best
What am I to become?
What am I in four short years?
What am I in my prime?
What am I when I move on to the other half of life?
I answer you now
I shall become
A Man for and With Others
I will be
A Man for and With Others
I shall succeed as
A Man for and With Others
When I leave this place I’ll be still
A Man for and With Others
edible attire and the hudsucker
August 12, 2008
while appealing in intimate settings
(or so i hear)
seems like an idea to be thrown
from the one hundredth
story
window
tied to a large brick
so that it may reach terminal velocity
and if it cannot die (due to it’s lack of life)
it should at least be
destroyed
or banished to the part of society
to be made into
mocking film stories
like the hula hoop
My Father and the Reaper
August 8, 2008
Part I: My father shot me, bang bang
I was created a girl, you see, and
wantin’ to be genderless was my sin,
“My daughter, I’m send you back to your maker.
Only he can make you whole for you’re unnatural.”
Steadfast was his resolve as he pointed the gun at me,
I didn’t wish to be a boy, you see,
but he shot me before I could tell him;
I wanted to be genderless.
I was the garbage can
rolling empty on the side of the street
one shot through my wasted heart,
nothin’ but pungent darkness.
Tell my father, he fostered and killed an empty vessel.
Tell him,
Tell him,
Tell him, I had yet to be born.
My father is not an evil man, you see
he is a simple man with ordinary values
uprooting all he doesn’t understand.
I wanted grace
a heart, not bruised or calloused
a mind, pristine and free
and eyes, innocent and clear.
So that I could feel like it wasn’t too late,
So that the day I’d finally be born and alive, I could say :
I am not my mother
I am not my father
I am not a girl
I am not a boy
I am human
***
Part II: The Reaper
Dark
Dark
Father, it is so dark.
Ah, 17 years old…
life had the promise of a bebop dance at the neon lights.
I thought there would be more days
Days when I’d breathe stardust till the break of dawn,
Days when freedom would cost 10 cents a piece at the farmer’s market
Days when I would needn’t stop for the rain or wait for love.
Fly me away
Fly me away from my own mind
Father, it is so silent.
my beautiful mom took the night train,
she promised to come back,
when the night is beautiful again
when the passing wind needn’t flirt with the outside, with damaged stars,
and plastic bags that always float one step further.
The reaper came from the bullet
and into darkness it took me,
to the place of the unwanted children-
dark and desolated.
The fabric of life and death is too coarse against my soul,
it rubs the good stuff away,
and soon I will fade into darkness.
Wish me back
Have Mercy, Father
wish me back
alive and well
So I can finally rest in peace.
My Sieve and Sand
July 31, 2008
My Sand is my emotions
My Sieve is my mind
My Sand moves through the motions
Whilst My Sieve looks behind
Confusion
July 9, 2008
People ask
“How do you feel?”
I say “Fine”
But do I really?
Am I to know
If I can not cry?
If I lie awake at night
Thinking without control
But not of my mother?
Hos-piss
June 25, 2008
Hospice
A word with all the powers of a magnet
Drawing things together
Somethings are shunned and wish to be repelled
But they always return
Others are accepted easily
But can never come back
Everything attracted has something in common
Power to express emotions
Love
Pain
Fear
Last wishes-like fire-are warm
But too much fire surrounding one self becomes
The source of more love
The source of more pain
The source of more fear
The smoke becomes a heavy blanket
Smothering its starter
To reduce the burden a stand must be made
One of courage where friends may be hurt
You can piss out the fire
But you cant piss out the pain
Great difficulty lies on the path where you try to be kind and loving
But sacrifices must be made
To live the rest of ones days with only the closest people to their heart.
your torrential downpour -
wash us clean from our pride
to remind us
of things we cannot control
your voice alone is the thunder
your grace alone is the rain
no matter the price of gas
you will not cease to send your rain
people dying in earthquakes
those who will drown today in oceans
they’re as real as this house
this street, this page, these words
and my wife.
you created life
we try so hard to harness
you alone create.
how small i am and how big you are
to strike down,
create
destroy
remembering that you are not safe
but you are good
your rain
so thick i cannot see
you remind us who you are
and who are
we.
An Ode to my Beloved Mother
June 21, 2008
Clutching at my Mary,
Thinking of the gift,
I’ll always remember
Who I wish to be with.
But some dreams can’t come true,
For life is the beginning,
Try not to grasp to tightly
Before Death comes running for you….

